A dog’s tail whacked Winnifred’s face.
She pushed at the dog lying on her until he condescended to roll onto her thighs. She sat up, resting back on her hands. “What are these?”
“Scottish deerhounds.” Deirdre bent and scratched the scruffy head of the dog pinning Winnifred to the floor. “The pedigree of these lads’ goes back almost as far as the Archers.”
“And here I thought they were a special breed of Scottish horses,” Winnifred muttered. She pushed at the monster at her hips, and he rolled further down her legs until he exposed his belly. His four paws stood straight up in the air, waggling, and he looked at her hopefully.
“Move Horatio.” She tried to shift her legs out from under him. He howled.
“He wants you to rub his belly. And that’s Banquo.” Deirdre lifted the watch pinned to her bodice and checked the time. “And I do have other things that require my attention.”
Winnifred swallowed her response. Her new mother-in-law was most likely influential with Sinclair. Winnifred had to watch her tongue. She gave Banquo’s belly three quick pats.
The animal whined, his large brown eyes glistening up at her.
Biting the inside of her cheek, she stroked his soft underside until he sighed with delight.
“Now will you release me?” she asked.
“Banquo. Up.” Deirdre snapped her fingers.
The animal jumped to his feet and trotted over to Deirdre for a pat on the head.
Winnifred climbed to her feet and shook out her skirts. If it had been that easy to get the dog off of her, why hadn’t Deirdre given the order sooner?
“Can we get on with it?” her mother-in-law asked, as if the delay was all Winnifred’s fault. “Lads, go find Sin.”
One of the dogs, Horatio, she thought, howled again, and with a scrabble of claws on hardwood, the beasts took off and disappeared out of the room.
“Now, as I was saying, we also use this room for balls. I expect we’ll be having one fer you in the near future.” Deirdre walked as she talked, pointing out the gallery of portraits, a library, several drawing rooms, and the family dining room. They went down a winding flight of stone steps and Deirdre pointed to a room through a low doorway. “The armory.”
Winnifred peered inside. “Armory? It looks more like a dungeon.” Along with racks filled with axes, spears, crossbows, and other weapons she couldn’t identify, manacles hung from the roughly-hewn walls, holding eerie suits of armor in their metal tentacles like phantom prisoners. “Why are you using the manacles in that manner?”
Deirdre shrugged. “It raises our spirits. Now,” she said, turning and leading her up another staircase, “here are the kitchens. Our conservatory is through those doors, this floor’s necessary is doon that hall, and my own personal parlor is that way.” She pointed over Winnifred’s shoulder. “Any questions so far?”
Winnifred shook her head. Aside from the dungeon, she was pleased to see that the rooms of Kenmore Castle were nicely appointed and appeared quite comfortable. It wasn’t the drear and drafty castle of her imagination.
At the top of yet another staircase, Deirdre gestured to two sets of doors. “Those lead into the marchioness’s bed chambers, and the other set belongs to the marquess. I must leave you now, but I assume you can explore yer rooms without assistance?”
“Of course. I ….” Winnifred spoke to a retreating back. She blew out her cheeks. “Thank you,” she called down the stairs. With a sigh of relief, she opened the doors closest to her and stepped into anteroom of her new chambers. Thick red carpet muffled her footfalls. She stepped into her bedroom. Tapestries of cream and pale reds and oranges covered the walls. A wan light filtered through the large, rectangular window. A door stood off to her right, and she pressed it open. A dressing room that was already filled with her belongings, and past that her husband’s dressing room. She inched open the final door and peered into her husband’s chamber.
Her jaw dropped and she stepped inside. Taking up a full quarter of the room was a bed.Thebed. And Winnifred could understand how a family tradition came to wrapped around it.
Made of a dark wood, the four thick posts had been carved in an octagonal shape. They rose almost to the ceiling, and delicate fleur-de-lis were etched at the top of each post. A wooden canopy attached the posts, the sides angling up into a peak. The backboard was tufted with an expensive-looking gold satin material that was carried over into the coverlet and pillow cases.
The bed looked like a tiny medieval cathedral. A family of four could live in that bed.
And tonight, she and her husband would consummate their marriage on it.
Drawing the door closed, she retreated to her own room. She sat on her much more modest bed and flopped onto her back. It wouldn’t be so bad. Not if her husband made her feel as he had in the inn two nights before. Her body warmed, and she ran her hand down her stomach to graze the part of her that had given so much pleasure. His hands, his mouth had felt so good, she’d almost forgotten herself. Almost lost her restraint. She’d wanted to shout as the tremors had taken her; only her will and fear prevented it.
A man wouldn’t want a wife to show such wantonness.
Tonight, she must take better care.
***
Sin tossed a treat to Banquo, then to Horatio when he whined. He kicked his boots up onto his desk. Bloody pampered animals. He’d missed them. Missed Kenmore. He hadn’t, however, missed its numerous, and never ending, problems.
